


ambidextrose (an IV in both arms)

by holygolightly



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Hale Takes Care of Stiles Stilinski, Just a one shot i guess, Pack Fic, Protective Pack, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Sick Character, Sick Stiles Stilinski, Sickfic, Stiles-centric, Stilinski Family Feels, im writing this at 3am be nice pls, lots of profanity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-16 04:38:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5814484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/holygolightly/pseuds/holygolightly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles hasn't been feeling too great lately. It's not a big deal, really...until it is.</p><p>OR</p><p>That time Stiles ignored some pretty obvious signs from his body because he's an idiot and ended up worse off because of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	ambidextrose (an IV in both arms)

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be honest, I'm not really happy with it. I started it super inspired but kind of lost interest. Sorry if it sucks, I tried to make it as interesting as possible.

Stiles hasn't been feeling too great lately. It's not a big deal, really...until it is.

* * *

In fairness, it all started in the middle of midterms so he had the excuse of being distracted. Plus most of his symptoms could be attributed to stress and not enough sleep. The headaches, the stomachaches, the scatter-brainness. It could've happened to anyone, really. (though not really, because Stiles was a special brand of idiot.)

* * *

Midterm week is hell, as always. Between studying, pack meetings, and keeping an eye on his dad's diet, he simply doesn't put it together fast enough. Now he can look back and realize that he was popping tylenol like it was candy and hadn't actually eaten a meal in several days between being to busy to eat and too nauseous when the time came around. Of course, just because he didn't notice doesn't mean nobody else did. 

"Stiles, I know you're trying to keep your girlish figure and everything but when the hell was the last time you ate? It hurts looking at you."

And really, since when did Jackass Whitemoore notice anything that didn't directly relate to himself?

"Maybe I'm just trying to avoid putting on some pounds like it seems you have. Letting yourself go before the season? I'm not sure how well that'll go over with Coach."

"Yeah, yeah. Go fuck yourself. Coach would play me even if i was 500 lbs before he would even think of playing you."

Yeah, that sounded more like Jackson. And Stiles honestly thought it was a one time thing, but of course it wasn't.

"Christ Stiles, you have more bags underneath you're than I do underneath my bed."

"Wow, Lydia. You sure do know how to make a guy blush, I'll tell you that."

"Oh, don't be like that. You know I'm right. When's the last time you slept?"

"Last night," he lied, "once testing's over, things'll go back to normal. I'll be back to my old, stunning self and you'll be tripping over yourself to get with me again."

"Look at that, you're delusional too."

Stiles couldn't help the snort that escaped him too. He was glad to have gotten over his borderline obsessive crush over her as it allowed them to become pretty kick ass friends. 

"Derek's gonna be pissed when he sees you, Stiles"

"Good ol' sourwolf will have to deal with it. Besides he normally only gets pissy because he doesn't need me distracted during a case. We're on supernatural-hiatus right now so it's all good."

"If you think the only reason Derek is normally pissed is because it might impede your researching ability, you're a bigger idiot than I thought.

Stiles mock-gasped, clutching his chest, "Lydia, how could you? Here I was believing myself to be the epitome of genius"

Lydia rolled her eyes before closing her locker, leaving to go to class.

"You know you love me, Lydia! You'll admit it one day," he called to her retreating back, ignoring the incredulous and pitying looks he received from those around him.

* * *

By the time Stiles got home, he was feeling a little worse for wear. His headache had gotten worse, pounding right behind his eyes, making his vision blurry. His stomach was randomly clenching, making him feel like he was constantly on the verge of losing his non-existent lunch. His whole body felt lethargic and heavy. 

Stiles decided to take a nap. His dad wasn't going to be home tonight and the wolves were out doing some weird tree-scratching training regime or something so it's not like anybody would know if he slept for like 7 hours and then had dinner at 11 or whatever, right? He'll feel better and probably look less dead the next day.

Wrong.

Waking up was even worse than going to bed. It took forever for him to wake up, feeling like he had to fight to get to consciousness. His neck hurt, stiff like he had slept on it wrong. Even the light from his alarm clock was hurting his eyes. He abdomen spasmed, sending a wave of nausea up. This was no good. There was no way he was going to make it to the last day of testing. It sucked. He had managed to make it through 4 days of testing already, he only had one left and he'd be home free, but no, of course not. Luckily the pack meeting wasn't for another two days and Stiles had already cooked and frozen several meals for his dad so at least he could get some much deserved rest.

He rolled over, deciding the best course of action was to just sleep and deal with anything else in the morning. It was too hard to concentrate right now, anyways. He'd probably forgotten his adderall or something. He couldn't even concentrate on trying to remember his daily pill consumption.

Of course, his sleep doesn't last too long as he wakes up 2 hours later to his phone playing "I Like Lyncanthropy" by Blaster the Rocketman far too loud to be acceptable. Stiles honestly felt like death incarcerated. Whatever he caught hit him hard and way too fast, he hadn't felt nearly this bad in school only a few hours ago. He knew he should answer Scott as it could be an emergency but the whiny, sick part of his brain reminded him that he was probably just calling to talk about that weird Allison/Isaac threesome thing he had going on and Stiles honestly couldn't handle that right now.

As Stiles turns to grab the phone, three things happen at one. The light from the screen shines directly in his eyes, the pain in his rockets up to a solid 100 on a 1-10 scale, and Stiles has to turn to his side to vomit away from the bed. His whole, lanky frame is rocked with convulsions as he spews what has to be every drop of stomach acid and bile from inside of him. Somethings wrong. While part of him feels like he's overreacting and that this is probably just the flu, he feels like there's something off, something he's missing. 

Better safe than sorry

As Stiles grabs the phone again, it having stopped ringing during his vomiting, and tries to unlock it. His hands grow shaky as he's rocked with waves of pain and the phone slips from his admittedly loose grip and clatters to the ground.  Stiles can't help the helpless sobs that rack his frame. He's in so much pain, he cant call for help, he can't even concentrate long enough to figure out when the fuck someone's going to notice he's not there because of how busy the packs schedule is. He can barely even comprehend what the fuck the clock says. Stiles has no idea how long he lays there, silently crying, until he passes out again.

The next time he wakes up, it's even worse than before. His headache has shifted from being one of sharp pain to one of extreme pressure. It literally feels like it's going to erupt any second. The moment his eyes open, he's turning to lean over the side of the bed to throw up again. 

When he straightens up again, he decides he needs help now. He tries to lean for his phone but he comes to the realization that he can't even move his neck, it's become too stiff to even turn. Because that's obviously what he needed right now on top of everything else. Upon noticing this, he decides to try to yell for help, hoping maybe his dad has returned home.

_Help please_

_Someone_

_Fuck, please_

After several minutes of yelling, his throat raw and head pounding, he falls asleep once again with tears drying on his cheeks.

The next time he wakes, it's to the blessed sound of the window open.

* * *

Derek isn't going to lie. He's a little annoyed to have to be going all the way to the Stilinski house all because his wolf is unsettled. It's definitely not how he planned to spend his night. It's hard enough controlling himself around the boy already, he certainly doesn't need to be sneaking into his room at all hours of the night. His annoyance skyrockets when the smell wafting from Stiles' room hits his nose. What the fuck? Derek knows how teenage boy rooms are supposed to smell and whatever is going on up there is beyond unacceptable. Did he leave food out to rot? What the fuck?

Derek quickly scales the house and opens the window, fully prepared to lecture Stiles about proper hygiene and room maintenance when he really absorbs what is he's smelling.

Sickness

The room smells like it's overflowing with illness. In a panic, Derek quickly flicks on the light before he can even think about. It's obvious, once he flicks the switch, that maybe Derek should've waited because as soon as the light hits Stiles' eyes, his body locks up and he begins to seize.

Derek isn't even ashamed to admit he freaks the fuck out. He practically leaps onto the bed, yelling at Stiles to stop fucking seizing because _what the fuck_ while dialing 911.

Derek is 99% sure that his entire phone call was him growling with a few coherent words like "sheriffs son, seizure, dying, help" before he hangs up and repeats the process with the sheriff.

The scent of urine hits his nose and Derek cant help but wolf out at the sensory overload. Luckily he doesn't have to wait long for help as less than 5 minutes later, the sound of sirens can be heard and the sheriff is sliding into the driveway and running up the stairs before Derek can even register it. 

The Sheriff is, apparently, no better at the situation than Derek since he's practically a bundle of nerves the second he walks in.

"Stiles! Stiles, open your eyes!"

Stiles lets out a quiet moan, his body going slack, the stillness jarring after such a violent display of movement.

"Where the fuck is the ambulance?" The question startles Derek, since he doesn't think he's ever heard the sheriff swear before, but luckily he's saved from answering due to arrival of the paramedics.

Derek and John both follow the medics outside, with John calling Melissa as they walk. Luckily, neither of the workers seem to mind both Derek and the Sheriff from squeezing into the back of the ambulance, as well. Derek figures it was probably a mixture of the sheriff's authority status and Derek's 'eye-brows of doom' as Stiles likes to call them.

Derek can hear Melissa panicking on the other end of the phone before swearing to be at the hospital doors when they arrive before hanging up. Derek watches as John puts his phone away before latching onto Stiles' hand. Derek can't stop himself from mirroring John's actions with Stiles' other hand, not that either Stilinski appears to notice.

"Shh, buddy. You're okay. Just relax, kiddo. Let the doctors do what they need to." The sheriff whispers to Stiles when he begins to groan in discomfort. Derek watches as John cups the side of Stiles' face with his free hand, his thumb rubbing reassuringly across his cheekbones before pressing a kiss to Stiles' temple. Derek feels strange watching the Sheriff look so vulnerable and scared, but he also recognizes that he probably looks the same, worry for Stiles overwhelming him.

It's a relief when they finally arrive at the hospital, knowing Stiles is closer to the care he needs. Unfortunately, their arrival also means a stronger scent of not only sickness but chemicals, and also letting go of Stiles' hand. 

Running into the hospital behind the nurses, he finds Scott already there waiting. Derek can smell the nerves emanating from him, which frankly does nothing to sooth his own panic. Luckily, Scott seems to process it fairly quickly and is texting the rest of the pack to let them know to come to the hospital.

The pack showing up is practically background noise to Derek, his head too busy going over what happened with Stiles over and over again to process their arrival.

It feels like a bucket of ice water has been poured on him the second the doctor enters the room. He tries to keep from jumping to any kind of conclusions from the scent of stress and nerves pouring from the doctor, but it's hard not to.

"Family of Mr. Stilinski?"

Luckily the sheriff takes the lead, as Derek doesn't honestly think he's capable of any kind of conversation at the moment.

"We've done several tests, including blood tests, a CT scan, and an xray. It seems Stiles has contracted meningitis. It's very lucky you caught it when you did. He had another seizure not long after you brought him in and his fever spiked, but it seems like we've got him stabilized. Meningitis can very easily be fatal so your quick response time could very easily be the thing that saved him. He'll spend the night in the ICU, just until we get his fever down. After that, we'll move him to a regular room. If all goes well, he should be back home in two days time. Unfortunately, he won't be 'better' by then, there's no cure for meningitis. Only time and strong antibiotics can help him. You'll need to keep him on bed rest for a while, make sure he gets plenty of fluids, and bring him back in if he seems to be getting worse. He should heal on his own. You can visit him in the morning."

Derek's heart damn near stopped when the doctor talked about the dangers of his illness. How the fuck did he catch that? Why the fuck didn't the pack notice? Derek knew one thing for sure, Stiles wouldn't be doing anything but recovering for however long it takes, regardless of what he had to say on the matter.

* * *

Waking up is confusing to say the least. His entire body feels heavy, like he's covered in a weighted blanket. Part of him doesn't even want to bother, urging him to fall back sleep, while the rest of him can tell something's wrong. The first thing he really processes is the loud, rhythmic beeping coming from somewhere to his left. It sounds familiar, and annoying, but it takes him several minutes to understand what it is and what it means. A heart rate monitor, he's in the hospital. 

He lets out a loud groan, the noise startling him. He knew he was sick but he had been hoping it wasn't too serious, obviously he was wrong.

And as if his day couldn't get any worse, the first thing sensation he becomes aware of as he woke more fully, was the goddamn needle in his arm. He knew he was freaking out, especially with the beeping becoming faster and faster, but needles have always been a cause for panic.

"Okay, calm down, relax kiddo. You're okay."

"Dad?" He asked, startled. He never even heard his dad enter.

His dad reached a hand out, brushing the damp hair out of his face, "Hey buddy, how're you feeling?"

"Sore, tired."

"Yeah, I bet. You're awful sick, apparently. You'll have to take it easy for a little."

"Aww, daddd" he whined, knowing that his dad was going to keep him away from the pack for however long it took.

"If I find out you're not resting, you'll be banned from pack meetings for the rest of the school year." That was Derek, once again startling Stiles, since apparently people no longer announce their entrances.

"But Der-"

"No, I'm serious. You of all people should know how serious meningitis is, Mr. Research. You need as much rest and relaxation possible in order to heal as fast as possible."

"Shit, meningitis. How the hell did I get that?"

"Language."

"C'mon dad, can't your sick, wilting child catch a break just this once."

Apparently it's too soon to joke since the only response his statement gets is a low rumbling growl from Derek.

 

Stiles figures he's in for a hell of a ride with these lot of mother hens running around.

* * *

 

'Mother hen' doesn't even begin to describe their protective levels. They're crazy. He hasn't been allowed back into school yet. If he does leave the house, on the few occasions they actually let him, he always has an escort to drive him there and back. He's literally never alone except for when he's in the bathroom. Even then, they make him leave the doors unlocked.

He's not allowed to lift anything heavier than a pillow. Seriously. The other night he tried to carry his plate of food over to the couch and Erica straight up growled at him. He's given medicine and vitamins every meal like clock work. He spends most of the day asleep. He's gotten more sleep the past few days than he probably has the last month put together. Anytime he's within arms reach of a pack member, they drain his pain. Boyd's practically turned it into an olympic sport with how fast he can grab Stiles.

The pack rub up on him every few minutes. He has to reek of the pack already but they seem determined to make sure the smell doesn't dissipate ever. Isaac is always rubbing his fast against Stiles' shoulder or cheek, whining if Stiles tries to evade him or pull away too early. 

Right now they're here because the sheriff is working the late shift and Scott is off somewhere with Allison. Melissa had stopped by earlier to check on him and give care-taking instructions to the betas, much to Stiles' annoyance. 

Stiles understands they're just worried and they want to help him, but he can't stand it. It's been days since he's had more than 5 minutes to himself and it's too much for him. Normally he spends most of his day by himself, even before the whole Scott is bitten thing. He can't really be blamed for his eventual snap. He's not some weak or fragile thing that needs babysitters. 

"Enough! Get out! Leave. I can't do this. Don't you have an alpha to bug or something? Please, you have to have literally anything else to do."

They shoot him looks, as if he just murdered their own pups in front of them, before the trio stormed out of his house.

Stiles settled in, trying to ignore the guilt churning in his stomach.

* * *

 

It had only been about an hour until suddenly an angry, red-eyed alpha came storming in. Stiles was sitting on the couch still but he did turn his head towards the wolf, glad his neck was feeling far better.

"What the hell, Stiles?"

"Jesus christ, are you incapable of knocking or do you just storm in for shits and giggles?"

"What the fuck is your problem?" Stiles stood, getting in the alpha's face, despite knowing how dangerous it was.

"MY problem? You're the one who just stormed in here like you were on a goddamn killing spree and I was your final victim." 

"They were just trying to help."

"Oh give me a break, they were suffocating me, okay? All I ask for is one fucking night to be alone. I don't need a babysitter for christ sake."

"They're not goddamn babysitters, you jackass, they're your friends."

"My 'friends' wouldn't treat any of the wolves like this."

"You're not a wolf."

"I could've been."

Derek seems to falter here, confusion overtaking the ever present anger, "What?"

"Peter offered me the bite."

"What?!" Derek growled out, his fangs dropping as if feral-Peter was here, trying to bite Stiles in front of him. Stiles instinctively took a step back.

"He was like, super creepy but y'know, I could've said yes."

"Why didn't you?"

"What?"

"Say yes. Why didn't you say yes?"

"I mean, I won't lie and say I didn't consider it, but it just wasn't the time. Peter's complete batshit craziness also helped sway my decision, but I mean, c'mon, between you missing, Scott's struggle for control, and Lydia's bite, the last thing we needed was me as a wolf."

"You...You were worried about me?" Derek asks, oddly hesitant. Stiles watches as Derek steps closer to him.

"Of course. Well, I mean, once we were sure you weren't a killer anymore."

"You held me up in the pool."

"I wasn't going to let you drown." Stiles couldn't keep the defensiveness out of his tone, not liking the feeling that his actions were being questioned.

"You missed your first lacrosse game playing on the field to help me."

"So what?"

"So, you like me."

"What? No."

Stiles didn't need to be a wolf to know his heard blipped at the lie, especially at the smugness that practically radiated from Derek. He quickly grew annoyed.

"Look, if you only came here to yell at me about your overbearing betas and then to make fun of my crush on you, then you can fucking leave and let the door hit you on your way out."

"I would never make fun of your feelings towards me."

"Why?" Stiles asked, half resigned and half cautious.

"Stiles, you're amazing. The betas were desperate to help you because you help stabilize the pack and having you out of commission was affected all of them. You're brave and stubborn and smart and fucking gorgeous and I'd be an idiot to let you go." Stiles couldn't help but notice the blush on Derek's face as he tried to articulate his feelings, clearly not used to being so open and vocal.

"You mean that?" Stiles asked, hopeful. This time it was Stiles who stepped closer, leaving hardly any space between them.

"I wouldn't be here if I didn't." Derek said, finally making eye contact with Stiles.

"Well, I mean, I guess you're not so bad yourself."

"So does that mean," Stiles begin, walking his fingers up Derek's chest, "that we can make this night a little more interesting?"

Derek took hold of Stiles' hand, pressing his lips to it, before letting go. When he looked back at Stiles, there was mischief in his eyes that instantly had Stiles wary.

"How about, you let the betas help you rest up real nice, and when you're 100% better, we'll go on a date. The faster you recover, the more 'interesting' date night will be."

Stiles isn't even ashamed to admit that he let the pack baby him for the next few days until he was healthier than he probably was pre-illness.

His reward was definitely worth it.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> was it shit? sorry. Hopefully the story I'm working on now will be better.


End file.
